


Bits and Pieces

by loves_books



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-06-03 10:06:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19461748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: Little pieces written for prompts on the Yahoo Hannibal/Face group.





	1. All Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Face is loaned out to another unit, but when they return he is not with them (MIA) this can be by accident or on purpose (author decides). Hannibal knows that one of Face's greatest fears is being abandoned and now it has happened, can the team find Face before the warzone or his own self-doubts kill him. Would like to see this during Vietnam if possible.   
> \- Jullian Gray.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘he’s still out there’?” Hannibal took a threatening step towards a nervous-looking Colonel Harris, hands clenching into fists by his sides as his heart started to thunder in his chest. “You left him out there? All alone?”

“We were separated,” Harris tried, glancing quickly at General Morrision who was standing by the two men with a deep frown on his face, listening quietly yet clearly ready to step in if necessary. “There was no way for us to get to him safely without risking the rest of the team.”

“So you left him?” Hannibal gritted his teeth so tight it hurt, and Harris visibly swallowed hard.

“We had no choice. He’ll find his way home, once he realises what’s happened.”

Another half-step forwards, and Morrison did step in then, raising one hand to Hannibal’s chest. “Easy, John.”

But all Hannibal’s focus was on Harris, who had promised to keep his lieutenant safe, who had sworn on his life that nothing would go wrong on his watch. “You left him, alone, in the middle of a war zone?” he asked slowly, clearly, aware that his voice was getting far too loud but not giving a single damn. “And what do you mean, ‘once he realises’?”

“We had to keep to radio silence, Hannibal, you know that.” Harris took a quick step backwards as Hannibal surged forwards, raising his hands in a defensive stance. “The plan was to return to base if we didn’t meet at the RV point by midnight last night. He’ll be on his way back by now.” 

But Face hadn’t yet returned. Harris and his other four men had made it back to base nearly two hours earlier, with only a few scrapes between them, though Hannibal had only just been told of their return. There was still no sign of Face, who should’ve been able to move faster by himself and should’ve easily beaten the rest of his temporary team back.

It was nearly fourteen-hundred hours. That meant much longer than fourteen hours where Hannibal’s boy had been out there in the jungle all alone, surrounded by enemy soldiers.

Face could be hurt, or worse. He could be trapped, pinned and unable to move, or he could be captured and already on his way to a prison camp.

Or he could be searching for his team, not wanting to leave without them, utterly confident that they wouldn’t have left him behind. Plans or no plans.

Hannibal’s team would never have left Face behind.

 _Hannibal_ would never have left _Face_.

At that agonising thought, Hannibal surged past General Morrison, brushing off the strong hands on his chest as if they were flies, and seized Harris by the shirt, practically lifting the smaller Colonel off his feet. He slammed the man backwards into one of the tent poles, and the whole tent shuddered around them with the force of the blow. Harris let out an entirely un-Colonel-like squeak but somehow held his tongue and didn’t even try to fight back.

Guilt. Good.

“You left my Lieutenant out there, alone, when you promised to bring him back in one piece,” Hannibal hissed, pinning Harris hard. He could feel Morrison hovering by his shoulder and just about reigned in the urge to thump Harris solidly in the face. “Now you’re about to tell me you’re going right back out there to find him, and that I’m coming with you. Right?”

Morrison laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Hannibal – ” 

“No.” Hannibal shrugged himself free, staring hard into Harris’s muddy brown eyes and relishing the flash of fear he saw there. “Right, Colonel?”

“We can’t. We’re out on a new mission in the morning.” Harris actually flinched as Hannibal tensed and lifted a fist. 

“Face is tough, Hannibal.” Morrison was using his ‘General’ voice, firm yet calming, though it had the opposite effect right now. “He’s a survivor, and he’ll be back soon. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already arrived back while we’ve been in here arguing.”

“No,” Hannibal said again, with a growl, and this time he did punch Harris right in the nose. There was a highly satisfying crunch and a spray of blood as the other colonel whimpered pathetically, before Hannibal simply dropped him to the floor and walked swiftly away, brushing past Morrison with a vaguely apologetic nod. “If you won’t go after him, then I will.”

Morrison, thankfully, said not a single word in argument, and Hannibal left the tent in a hurry, his heart racing and his whole body tense. Face was out there, all alone, and that was the one thing Hannibal knew his boy dreaded more than anything in the world.

Face would never admit to it if asked, but then Hannibal was the one who woke in the night to find his lieutenant whimpering in his arms, trapped in the throes of a nightmare. Hannibal was the one who glimpsed the lost little boy Face still was at heart, who heard the pleas.

_Don’t leave me._

_Not alone, please._

_Please, stay._

Hannibal was the one who would shake Face awake gently, who would kiss away the tears and promise to never leave him alone.

Hannibal should’ve known not to trust another Colonel with his precious boy. It had been an utterly stupid decision, and he would never forgive himself if Face had been hurt – or worse, whispered that evil voice in the back of his mind – but Hannibal forced those thoughts away.

He could beat himself up once he had Face back safely in his arms and his bed.

Murdock and BA were waiting for him right outside the tent, both on edge and visibly tense. “Well, boss?” BA asked immediately, voice dangerously low, while Murdock bounced on his toes, cap in hand. “Where is he?”

“That bastard Harris left him out there, all alone.” Hannibal didn’t pause and kept right on walking, heading for the team’s tent to get their gear, feeling rather than seeing both men fall into place behind him. “But we’re going to find him.”


	2. Stupendous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I recently remembered watching an episode, and Hannibal commenting to someone about Face, saying “He’s a stupendous liar”. In the movieverse, if Face and Hannibal are in a relationship, how would Face feel about hearing that?... I found the episode - it’s Where is the Monster When You Need Him and the quote is actually “He’s an absolutely stupendous liar”.  
> \- Pasmore

Your first thought is, Is that how little he thinks of me?

Your second thought, following almost immediately on the heels of the first, is, Well, he’s not wrong.

You know you’re a good liar, though Stupendous is probably going a few steps too far. You have to be good, doing what you do. It’s what keeps you alive. All of you, Hannibal and Murdock and Bosco as well as yourself.

But it’s not a selfish act, the lying. Not now; you’re self-aware enough to realise that it has been selfish, at times, in the past. There aren’t many of those selfish lies you regret, though, and you certainly won’t apologise for them.

As a child in a group care home, lying was often the only way to get the attention all the children craved, whether it was a sin or not. As the latest foster child in yet another temporary home, a couple of lies designed to draw the sympathy of the potential New Parents were also forgivable, surely.

Still, most of your childhood lies were the typical, harmless lies told by children everywhere. Selfish, yes, but not unusual. It wasn’t me, it was them. Of course I washed my hands. Yes, I’ve finished my homework.

You never lied in the confessional; you knew enough, believed enough, and were just scared enough, to not even risk it.

Adults told lies too, and as you grew you became more aware of that fact, and also more aware of just how much pain a simple lie could cause. The worst was, Of course you’ll have a new family soon. You promised yourself then that you would be careful never to hurt anyone if there was another way. 

As you grew from a child to a teenager into a man, you discovered that your looks could help sell your lies. Blond curls that darkened to a caramel brown, strangely bright blue eyes, and full, pouty lips – people saw those rather than your too-large ears and prominent nose, and those same people were drawn in further by a confident manner and a wide smile. The muscles helped even more, once you discovered the gym and the way your body changed with a few weights lifted. People believe whatever lies you tell them when you look the way you do.

You’ve always tried not to take advantage of that too much, but you’re only human after all.

Lying in the Rangers has, admittedly, earned you a few personal benefits over the years. A few sweet deals on the side when you were getting supplies for your regiment, for example. And if there was a pretty brunette charmed into your bed along the way, or a muscular frat boy coaxed out of the closet for one night only, then you always made sure no one got hurt. You made sure to leave them happy, always, determined that there be no broken hearts on your watch.

You never told them the whole truth, though.

Oh, but with Hannibal… You’ve never lied to Hannibal, not once, not unless you count lies of omission, which you personally don’t. There are just some things you haven’t told Hannibal, some things you may never tell him. Hannibal knows that. Just as you know there are some things Hannibal hasn’t told you either. And that’s fine with you. You’ve got the rest of your lives to learn everything about each other.

But lying is still a part of your life. It always will be. It’s practically in your job description after all, though you prefer the job title of Con Artist to Liar. Con Artist suggests there is some skill involved, some thought. Liar just sounds nasty.

Sometimes you practice lying, because it’s a skill like any other and if you don’t use it you lose it. It needs to be almost instinctive. Like breathing. If you pause for thought in the middle of a con then lives could be lost. Hannibal’s life could be lost, and that thought makes you want to curl up in a ball and cry.

You’re good, yes – certainly not stupendous – but you’re so much more than that, and you honestly thought Hannibal knew that by now. Eleven years you’ve known each other, nine years as lovers, and these have been the best years of your entire life, only made better since Murdock and BA joined the team nearly eight years ago.

There have been many times in these eleven years when you’ve lied with Hannibal’s explicit consent, even his blessing, and other times when you’ve gone a little bit rogue. Most of the time things work out the way you plan, because you’re Good. Sometimes, it falls apart, because you’re Only Human. Lying to Charissa had felt wrong from the very beginning, and boy had Hannibal chewed your ass out for that, even though the make-up sex had been fucking incredible.

Stupendous, even.

Hannibal knows you, heart and soul, and you’ve always believed that he accepts you just the way you are, warts and all. Hannibal makes you want to be A Better Person. Hannibal is the Best Man You’ve Ever Known, and he is the Love Of Your Life. All those clichés and many more apply here, and you feel no shame whatsoever in using them. Hannibal is Incredible. You have no idea what you would be without him in your life, and you hope you never have to find out.

For Hannibal to have answered that question – So, tell me about Face? – with that as his opening line? That just hurts.

It shouldn’t hurt. It’s true, after all.

You close your eyes for a second, shaking your head briefly and telling yourself the prickle at the back of your eyelids is simply from the dropping temperatures. It’s cold out here in the desert at night, right? And the fact that your throat feels a little tight is simply a sign of dehydration.

Suddenly, you really, really need a drink.

But just as you turn to go, heart heavy, you hear footsteps behind you. It’s a distinctive tread that can only belong to one man. A man who stands at a towering six foot four yet still moves with cat-like grace. A man to whom you gave your heart a long time ago.

You plaster on a smile and square your shoulders before you turn to him – you’re a stupendous liar, apparently, and body language counts for a lot – but Hannibal isn’t fooled for even a second.

“You heard,” he says immediately, big hands moving up to cradle your head in a way that always makes you feel utterly cherished and safe. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. He was being a dick. I wanted to shut him up, and he certainly didn’t deserve an honest answer.”

You close your eyes again, this time in relief, and let yourself be held close. Your smile feels more genuine, your heart suddenly light. You should have known better.

“You really think I’m a stupendous liar?” you ask softly, and you relish the deep chuckle that slips from your lover’s lips before Hannibal turns serious.

“I think you are stupendous in every possible way, and I know I don’t tell you that often enough.” A brief, fleeting kiss lands on your lips, there and gone again in a split-second, and you’ll both have to be content with that until you’re safely back in your tent. “I love you, Face.”

“Love you too, Hannibal.”


	3. A Rose By Any Other Name...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Build a story around the line, “What exactly am I supposed to do with that?”  
> \- Spot_On60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved this little prompt, and ended up writing three separate fills! This is the first, and shortest.

“What exactly am I supposed to do with that?”

“You say that like I’m trying to give you a grenade!”

“I’d know what to do with a grenade. This is a rose.”

“So what do you normally do when someone gives you flowers?”

“This isn’t flowers. It’s a rose. It’s a singular flower.”

“Okay then, smartass. What do you normally do when someone gives you a flower, as a sign of their eternal love and devotion?”

“No one ever gave me a flower before. I’m usually the one who…”

“Ah. Well, I’d suggest perhaps you would start by saying thank you.”

“Thank you, Hannibal, truly.”

“And then you should just enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it? That’s all?”

“Unless you think I’ve missed out a step?”

“What about a token of my gratitude in return? A kiss, maybe?”

“Well, if you felt that was appropriate, then I certainly wouldn’t say no.”

“Hannibal?”

“Yes, Face?”

“Thank you. Now, come here.”


	4. Biology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take two for Spot_On60 who asked: Build a story around the line, “What exactly am I supposed to do with that?”

“What exactly am I supposed to do with that?”

Still lying flat on his back on the bed where Hannibal had left him, blankets pulled up to his shoulders, Face sounded and looked far too weary to even be amused. For a split-second Hannibal wished he’d stayed in the bathroom and taken care of his little problem, out of Face’s sight, but.

But he hadn’t wanted to leave his lover alone for any longer than absolutely necessary.

“Ignore it,” he told Face quietly, self-consciously adjusting his robe until what was left of his erection was mostly concealed. Trust Face’s sharpshooter eyes to spot it. “It’s nothing. It’ll go away soon.”

“Hannibal?” A brief frown flitted over Face’s pale forehead, a matching flash of worry visible in washed-out blue eyes. “I could always – ”

“Don’t even think about it, please.” Hannibal sat carefully back down on the bed by Face’s hip, reaching up to adjust the blankets and smoothing imaginary creases over his lover’s chest. “It’s just biology.”

Face blinked up at him heavily, clearly fighting the sleep his body so desperately needed, and hummed softly. “Biology, huh?”

“My body likes your body.” Giving Face a slow, tender bed bath had been a strange kind of almost-torture, running his hands over muscles he knew almost better than his own, yet hating the weakness that made it necessary. “And my body doesn’t know how poorly you’ve been.”

Face snorted weakly at that, as his eyes lost the battle to stay open at long last. “I’m hardly dying,” he whispered with a tired smile, and Hannibal’s heart lurched painfully in his chest.

_You so nearly did…_

Rather than pointing that fact out to Face, who was well aware just how close it had been, Hannibal managed a smile of his own. It was a genuine smile, for the most part: Face was finally back home with him, more than two weeks after he’d been admitted to the base hospital with meningitis. The staff had been remarkable, the antibiotics had worked miracles, and Face would make a full recovery, in time. They both had so much to smile about.

But Face was still so weak. Even the slow climb upstairs from the living room to the bedroom had left him too exhausted to even lie in the bath, let alone stand in the shower with Hannibal’s support. The fact that he’d allowed Hannibal to wash the sterile antiseptic scent of the hospital from his body spoke volumes about just how hard this recovery would be.

Such thoughts finally deflated what little was left of Hannibal’s stubborn and involuntary erection. He’d missed having Face in his bed, yes, but this really was just a biological reaction. 

He sighed softly, tweaking his robe over his thighs again. “There, it’s gone now. Told you to ignore it.”

“You sure?” Face wriggled a little on the bed, eventually managing to flop one hand out from beneath the snug blankets and reach for Hannibal’s groin, though his eyes were still closed. “I could always…” There was a brief waggle of long, talented fingers, but Hannibal caught his lover’s roaming hand and squeezed it gently between both of his own.

He lifted Face’s hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to scarred knuckles, letting his eyes roam over his lover’s form even as his lips lingered. The dry shampoo he’d carefully scrubbed through limp locks earlier had brought some life back to Face’s curls, but the dark shadows beneath closed eyes and the too-sharp cheekbones spoke volumes as to how close this particular call had been. 

Something so simple. A headache and a fever, then a terrifying seizure and a call for an ambulance, which had arrived in minutes just as Face had lost consciousness. No gunshots, no bombs, no terrorists. Just biology.

Hannibal kissed Face’s hand again, aware of his lover’s grip growing looser as sleep drew closer, before leaning down and kissing slightly-parted lips. “No, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Not until you’re in the mood yourself, okay?”

A soft snore was the only answer, and Hannibal smiled softly to himself, knowing Face’s biology would tell them when the time was right. It might not be for weeks yet, but it would be worth the wait.

And in the meantime? Hannibal had his lover back home with him, and all was right with his world.


	5. Pink!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My third and (so far!) final take for Spot_On60's "What exactly am I supposed to do with that?”.

“What exactly am I supposed to do with that?”

Hannibal had to swallow down his instinctive urge to laugh at the expression Face wore as he stared down into the box on his lap – equal parts horrified, amused, terrified, and definitely aroused.

Instead of laughing, he settled back deliberately in his chair and crossed his legs in what he hoped was a casual manner, hiding his own growing arousal. That hadn’t exactly been part of the plan.

“It’s just a small gift,” he told his stunned lover with a cunning smile, biting his lip as Face’s eyes somehow opened even wider. “Something to keep you company while I’m away.”

“That’s not small, it’s huge,” Face whispered in awe, gingerly poking into the box with one pointed finger.

At that comment, Hannibal did have to laugh, though he choked it off pretty quickly. “It’s huge, but not as big as me,” he pointed out, and Face’s bright blue eyes finally did snap up to meet his gaze briefly, pupils already blow huge and round. 

“Show off.” Face’s muttered comment was said with obvious amusement, and no hint of disagreement, before he added, “This is also pink. Yours isn’t pink.”

Hannibal shrugged, reaching one hand discreetly down to adjust himself in his pants. Even watching Face opening up his present was getting him a little too worked up, which really wasn’t ideal when his transport was due to arrive in less than fifteen minutes.

He smirked over at Face. “You like pink.” And Face’s cheeks immediately darkened with a firey blush, which only made Hannibal want to continue. “Those panties, remember. And the corset.”

The blush darkened as Face threw up a hand in protest. “Okay, okay. But this is extremely pink. Obscenely pink, one might say.”

As Hannibal watched, Face finally reached into the box properly and carefully lifted his gift out, handling it as if it might explode at any moment.

And, oh, yes, in this light it was a little more fluorescent pink that Hannibal remembered, but then – “No one is ever gonna see it except for you and me,” he drawled slowly, letting his voice grow deeper and relishing the obvious shudder that rippled across Face’s shoulders. He knew exactly how to manipulate his lover, just as Face knew how to manipulate him in return.

As Face lifted it higher, holding it between two fingers and turning it back and forth to examine it closely, it was also bigger than Hannibal remembered. Ten inches long, and nearly four inches around at the base, though its deceptively smooth exterior held a few internal surprises that Hannibal knew Face would enjoy discovering for himself. If he ever read the instructions.

Face licked his lips, wide eyes now almost entirely black with arousal, and Hannibal wanted nothing more in the world than to crowd his gorgeous lover down onto their bed and experiment with their new toy for hours on end.

But there wasn’t time. And that wasn’t the idea behind the gift, anyway. This was just for Face. 

For now, at least.

“I wish you weren’t going.” Face sighed, suddenly growing serious, and he laid the extremely pink vibrator back into its box before looking over at Hannibal. “I’m really going to miss you. Have I said that yet?”

Hannibal swallowed hard. “It’s only for three weeks. I’ll miss you too, but you’ll be busy with your training course and I’ll be buried in a hundred meetings and seminars, then I’ll be home before you know it.” Hannibal was trying desperately to be positive, but this would be incredibly difficult for them both – it would be the longest time they’d ever spent apart in all the years they’d known each other.

“So, you really think this is a good replacement?” Face tried to smile and nodded back down at the box on his lap and its pink contents, though he kept his gaze locked on Hannibal as he spoke, the black of arousal fading back to the vivid blue that Hannibal loved so much. “This isn’t going to hold me close at night. Or make me coffee in the morning, just the way I like.”

Hannibal felt a pang deep in his chest. “Face, sweetheart – ”

“No, sorry.” Face visibly shook himself then forced a wider smile. “It’s only three weeks, you’re right. It’ll be good for both of us to spend some time apart and do our own thing. And I’ll get to know this very well.” He picked up the vibrator again and waved it in the air with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, which didn’t fool Hannibal for a moment. “ And I can show you what I’ve learned when you get home.”

“You expect me to wait that long?” Hannibal stood up from his chair, his erection faded and forgotten with the thought of actually leaving his boy. “I’m expecting updates while I’m away. It’s not like we’ve got to observe radio silence.”

Face stood too, placing the box carefully to one side but keeping hold of his pink present, then stepped coyly towards Hannibal. “You want to sext?” he asked slyly, and damn it if Hannibal’s cock didn’t twitch again at that faint growl in his lover’s voice. “Or how about some photos? Dirty phone calls?”

“Any and all of the above.” 

Hannibal reached out and hauled Face into his arms, crashing their lips together in a passionate kiss that would have to last them both until they next met again in person. He felt Face’s arms wrap immediately around him in return, the vibrator pressed between his shoulder blades as Face clung on tightly.

“Love you,” Face gasped when they finally broke apart, both a little short of breath, and Hannibal felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. They didn’t say the words often, neither of them feeling the need. 

He kissed Face again, then again, and again, each kiss softer than the kiss before, and slid one hand up to cradle his boy’s head. “I love you too,” he told Face, then both of them flinched when a car horn sounded outside. It was Hannibal’s driver, right on time and ready to spirit him away.

Hannibal didn’t want to go.

For a moment they stood together in silence, then Face was the one who found the strength to pull back, an understanding smile on his lips and his eyes bright. “Go on, Colonel,” he told Hannibal. “Go and show them all how brilliant you are. Then come back home to me. I’ll be waiting.”

There was nothing more to be said, and Hannibal quickly gathered his bags and left before he could change his mind.

And the car hadn’t even reached the airport when Hannibal’s phone chimed with an incoming photo message.


	6. Play!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don’t mind if you don’t want but how about: “Do you think you could just move that a little...”  
> \- Hsg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct sequel to Chapter Five: Pink!
> 
> This is also going to be the only chapter that needs an Explicit rating, so I'm not planning to change the overall rating at this stage - if anyone thinks I should change it, though, please do let me know. I certainly don't want to cause any offence.

“Do you think you could just move that a little…?”

Hannibal smiled wickedly but made no move to touch Face, who couldn’t see him anyway, finding he was quite happy to simply enjoy the view for a little longer. Face sounded far too much in-control for his liking so there was definitely some time to kill.

Not too much time, though. Hannibal’s own patience wouldn’t last for much longer.

“What would you like me to move, exactly?” Hannibal asked innocently, keeping his hands firmly on his own thighs, as Face gave a little gasp that was half-whine and half-plea. Now, that was much more what Hannibal was going for.

There were another few gasps and grunts before Face managed to take a deeper breath. “You know what,” he hissed, his voice high and tight, and Hannibal had to grit his teeth in an attempt to avoid laughing out loud as his lover writhed on the bed; as much as he was able, at least, tied up as he was.

“So where’s the magic word then?” Hannibal drawled, letting his voice drop low and husky, knowing exactly the effect that would have on his Face.

And sure enough, Face’s muscular body shivered violently enough that Hannibal might’ve thought it a seizure if he hadn’t known better. 

“Bastard,” Face breathed as he settled back down after a few long moments, then immediately added, “Please?”

Hannibal smirked and bit his lip, hands itching now to reach out and touch all the gorgeous skin that was on display, though the anticipation was truly more than half the fun after so much time spent apart. He pressed a palm briefly to his own already-aching erection – both of them were as naked as the day they were born – though he quickly lifted it away in case it really did all end too soon.

He took a deep, steadying breath and mentally counted to ten before asking, “Please what?” Face really did whine at that, tugging hard at the ropes binding his wrists to the head of the bed and his ankles to the footboard, all his muscles standing out in sharp relief.

It was a truly gorgeous, beautiful sight – Face sprawled on his back, pinned in a spread-eagled position, bound and blindfolded and utterly helpless.

Though not truly, of course not. Hannibal knew his lover could slip free with a simple twist of his wrists if he really wanted to, thanks to safety knots Hannibal had practised a thousand times, but Face wouldn’t do that, not unless Hannibal went too far. Something he had absolutely no intention of doing.

Face was simply lying there and taking whatever Hannibal did or didn’t give to him, purely because he wanted to, which was absolutely the best turn-on ever so far as Hannibal was concerned.

Face wasn’t to lie there silently, though. “Fuck,” he breathed, a long and drawn out sound, hips bucking off the mattress as if begging for Hannibal’s touch. A touch Hannibal simply wasn’t willing to give yet. Soon, though. Perhaps.

Or, now.

Definitely now.

He finally let himself indulge in the need to reach out and laid his hands on all the flexing muscle on display in front of him. “Something wrong, sweetheart?” he asked from his perfect position kneeling in between Face’s spread thighs, as he rested one hand flat on tense abs, genuinely surprised by how strongly he could feel the vibrations rippling through his lover’s lower body. “Oh, well that’s interesting.”

Face choked on another gasp, his body bucking up again as if desperate for more contact, and hissed, “Bastard.” In retaliation, Hannibal reached down with his free hand and carefully thumbed the controls on the vibrator to turn it up. One. Notch. Higher.

It truly was almost obscene, the size and colour of the toy buried deep inside Face’s body. Yes, Face had indeed spent some ‘quality time’ alone with it while Hannibal had been away, and yes, he’d dutifully tormented Hannibal with photos the entire time. And videos. And messages. And more photos.

It had been an exquisite form of torture, even if it was one Hannibal had asked for, and he had been waiting for his moment to return the favour. As far as he was concerned, Face deserved everything he was getting. 

“I can’t hear you, lover.” Hannibal stroked his palm in a slow, teasing circle over Face’s tense belly, tickling over his happy trail, yet careful to stay well away from the proud erection, standing tall and begging for attention yet so far deliberately neglected.

Below the straining cock and tight, full balls, the shocking pink vibrator was clearly visible, wedged firmly in place yet still with an inch or two remaining outside of Face’s body. It was clearly vibrating hard, his rim stretched tight and the skin nearly purple from the sheer size of it.

Beautiful. And Hannibal knew very well that the angle of that shocking pink vibrator was not quite what one might call… perfect. Not for Face, at least.

Face strained at his bonds yet again. “Please,” he begged, chest heaving as he choked on what might have been either a laugh or a sob, tossing his head from side to side on the pillows as if he was trying to slide the blindfold free. Hannibal waited patiently just a little longer until Face suddenly swallowed hard and asked, with impressively careful and clear enunciation, “Please Hannibal, love of my life, do you think you could move the pink monstrosity a little bit?”

The ‘monstrosity’ – that’s what Face had dubbed it, only partly in jest, and Hannibal had to agree it was a more than fitting name for the toy. It must feel even more monstrous after having it wedged in, vibrating constantly, for nearly thirty minutes.

He took a careful hold of the base of the monstrosity, pressing down firmer with his other hand still splayed wide on Face’s stomach to pin his lover’s hips to the bed, then paused one last time.

For a long moment he held completely still, drinking in the gorgeous sight of Face completely stripped to pure instinct, body involuntarily twitching and bucking and twisting, his fine muscles all locked up tight and his perfectly tanned skin painted in a fine sheen of sweat. His perfect lover was utterly lost to lust and need and desire as he tossed his head on the pillows, throat exposed and lips parted, begging for a kiss, or a touch, or anything. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Hannibal whispered, though he doubted Face could hear him now over his own increasingly loud gasps for air. Then, louder, he conceded, “Well, since you asked so nicely...”

With no further ado Hannibal drilled the vibrating monstrosity all the way in those last two inches, angling it up slightly as he did so, aiming for his lover’s prostate with a skill borne from years of pleasurable exploration.

With an actual ear-splitting scream, Face’s entire body locked up, his muscles going from trembling to rigid as he pulled all the ropes tight and shot his much-delayed release all over his own stomach and chest, a few drops even hitting his own chin.

That was even better than Hannibal could have possibly expected. He watched with his jaw dropped and his eyes bugged wide, slightly stunned, then he simply couldn’t wait another moment. He pulled the monstrosity from Face’s body even as his lover trembled and quaked, then threw it away to one side, barely registering the dull thud as it rolled off the bed and hit the floor.

He slid forwards just enough to jam his knees under Face’s hips and buried his desperate cock deep in Face’s welcoming body. After being teased for so long with the giant toy, Face was as open and as loose as Hannibal had ever felt him, the warm and welcoming heat settling around his erection like a glove even as Face’s body continued to shake with the sheer strength of his orgasm – Hannibal simply knew he wouldn’t last long.

“So fucking beautiful,” he gasped as he shifted his grip to Face’s hips, immediately starting to thrust as hard and as deep as he possibly could, closing his eyes and throwing his head back as he abandoned himself to pleasure. “So. Fucking. Perfect.”

Face half-screamed and half-sobbed as Hannibal drilled into his body, his prostate overstimulated even as his body fell suddenly limp in the ropes holding him open and helpless. But before Hannibal could even being to worry with what few brain cells he had left functioning, Face moaned, “Yes, oh please... Please…” And that was all it took to finally topple Hannibal over the edge with a loud roar, his fingers tightening enough to leave bruises on Face’s hips.

He didn’t black out, not entirely, far too aware of his responsibilities to his bound lover. But it was close. The sheer joy of being back inside his much-missed partner after three long weeks of torment, the absolute delight of seeing the man he loved more than life itself, the utter release of unloading himself deep in Face’s welcoming body without even using protection – he was so, so close to passing out from the pleasure, but he managed to stay alert enough to slip Face’s wrists free and the blindfold off even as he slid his softening cock from Face’s body.

Hannibal curled himself carefully around Face, all too aware of the shivers and tremors still rippling through the limp form. Even freed from the blindfold Face’s eyes were still closed loosely, his mouth slightly parted as his breathing gradually slowed and deepened.

With his ankles still tied, Face couldn’t turn towards Hannibal the way he clearly wanted to, but somehow they still managed to entwine themselves tightly together on the bed.

“I missed you so much,” Face whispered eventually, his chest still heaving slightly where he was pressed against Hannibal’s side.

In turn, Hannibal could barely draw to speak, suddenly finding himself choked by emotion. All he could do was tighten his arms around his lover’s warm body, burying his nose in Face’s soft hair and pressing a tender kiss to the sensitive space behind an ear, smiling a little at the full-body shiver that earned him.

In a few minutes he’d find the strength to loosen the last of the ropes, and to be able to clean them both up. He’d be able to kiss Face in the way his patient, wonderful, incredible lover truly deserved, and he’d find the strength to pull up the blankets and hold his lover close all night.

For now, all Hannibal could do was lie there, collapsed halfway over and halfway under an equally drained and satisfied Face, listening as the pink monstrosity buzzed merrily away somewhere on their bedroom floor.

Ah, home sweet home.


	7. Just The Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Face are on a mission/training exercise on very chilly night. Face is already asleep in their zipped-together sleeping bag but when a cold Hannibal finally gets to turn in and goes to slip in beside him, Face wakes and moves over so Hannibal can have the warm spot and then holds him close to warm him. Thoughts of Face and/or Hannibal or maybe someone else who is watching them.  
>  \- Pasmore

It could just be a trick of the shadows, the way Peck appears to roll forwards in the two joined sleeping bags to let Smith crawl in behind him.

There was no need for him to move, after all. There was plenty of room in front of him. Except, this way, it gives Smith the warm spot where Peck had been resting, while Peck lies in the cooler space. Peck should have been sleeping while Smith was out on patrol, but clearly he’d been awake and waiting for his Colonel, ready to welcome him back.

Smith climbs in as quickly as he can, careful not to let too much cold air in, then there is a little more squirming as the two well-built soldiers shuffle around in the small space. Smith’s big hands tighten the neck of the joined bags, and Peck turns yet again to face Smith.

Not a word is spoken, not even a whisper.

It could just be the moonlight, the way Peck seems to cuddle up behind Smith, spooning the taller man immediately. Smith must be badly chilled from his patrol; temperatures had dropped rapidly once the sun dipped behind the horizon, and they’ve no shelter and no heat, only their sleeping bags and each other.

It’s just a training exercise, a night in the wilderness for a select group of soldiers to spend time with the visiting Alpha Unit. It’s been incredible so far. They’ve all been inspired and each of them has new ambitions for their career, particularly after seeing the obvious bond between Colonel and Lieutenant. These are real soldiers. No, these are Rangers.

These are the men they all want to be, some day.

So it really might be the shifting of the passing clouds overhead that suggest the way Smith melts into Peck’s embrace, pressing his back into his Lieutenant’s chest. Their silhouettes in the joined sleeping bag merge into one, indistinguishable from the shadows of the night, and maybe Peck has pressed his face to the back of Smith’s neck in a gentle nuzzle, or maybe not.

They’re only doing what they have to do for survival, after all, what they’ve told all the soldiers with them to do. Every one of them is in a shared bag; there’s no shame in sharing body heat, and none of them have any body consciousness left after so long in the Army.

It might just be the shadows.

It’s probably just the moonlight.

Still, each of them will wonder what exactly happens between Smith and Peck in their small haven for the night, warm and safe and together while other soldiers keep the patrol. When Peck leaves the bag to take his own turn later, maybe Smith will lie awake waiting for him, and maybe he’ll roll into the cooler spot with Peck returns. 

But no one will be left awake to see, so no one will ever know for sure.


	8. The Only Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal is invited to a conference with some army brass and unusually, partners are invited along to enjoy the venue. As a partner, Face isn’t allowed to participate in the talks but is expected to socialise with the other partners. When all the other partners turn out to be older ladies, Hannibal is worried that Face will be bored and get into mischief, but Face soon has the ladies completely charmed and enjoying themselves immensely. How does he do it?  
> \- Pasmore

Face was just hanging up the last of his shirts when he heard Hannibal’s key turn in the door of their hotel room, and he couldn’t help but grin. “Hey, lover,” he drawled contentedly, though he didn’t turn, choosing instead to keep on unpacking; the sooner it was all done, the more time he’d have to relax. “You’re back sooner than I expected. I’ve barely finished with one suitcase.”

“Only you would bring two full suitcases for a four day conference.” Face could hear Hannibal’s amusement and was about to point out – for what felt like the twentieth time since they’d arrived that morning – that he needed a variety of options depending on what extra-curricular activities were planned, when a strong pair of arms slid around his waist and warm lips pressed a tender kiss to the side of his neck, sweeping all thoughts of arguing from his mind. 

Instead, he melted happily into his lover’s embrace with a sigh. “You know it’s not all clothes in there, right?” he whispered, bringing his own hands up to squeeze Hannibal’s. “There might be a few more adult treats in there, too, if you know what I mean. I’m hoping you might not be completely exhausted after each session.”

Hannibal’s surprised laugh was briefer than Face had expected, and he turned curiously in the circle of those strong arms, meeting an unexpectedly nervous blue gaze. He had barely quirked an eyebrow and opened his mouth to ask when Hannibal took a death breath, squeezing him tighter before saying, “You’re the only man.” 

For a moment Face had no idea what his other half was getting at, so he tried for a joke. “Well, there are at least two standing in this hotel room, unless there’s something you haven’t told me!”

But Hannibal didn’t smile. “Colonel Jenson was meant to be bringing his husband, but apparently he’s broken his leg and had to stay at home. And Major Craig broke up with his boyfriend last week.”

“Ah.” Face suddenly understood Hannibal’s nerves, though he didn’t share them. “So, I’m the only man.”

Hannibal nodded, then leant down to press his forehead against Face’s. “A hotel full of officers and their wives, girlfriends, and significant others. Most of them are older than both of us. And then there’s you.”

“You okay with that?” Face asked softly. They hadn’t been ‘out’ for long, after all, and this was certainly the biggest and most significant event where they would be together as a couple rather than as team-mates.

A shrug and another squeeze from powerful arms, bringing Face flush against his lover’s chest, where he settled quite contentedly, feeling Hannibal’s power. He brought his hands up to rub gentle circles over tense shoulders, happy to let Hannibal take his time and gather his thoughts.

It hadn’t been their choice to ‘come out’, and Face was all too aware that Hannibal felt the burden of proving to the entire Army that General Morrison had made the right decision leaving them in the same chain of command after the photographs of the two of them locked in a passionate embrace had done the rounds of Fort Benning. 

Face honestly wasn’t bothered, apart from the fact that it bothered Hannibal. They’d been making it work personally and professionally for nearly a decade and nothing had changed beyond the fact that now everyone knew. He was completely and utterly confident in their relationship, and he trusted in Hannibal’s love for him, but Hannibal had a habit of over-thinking things at times. The burden of command, and always having to be the man with the plan – Face’s only plan was to do whatever made life easier for the man he loved.

He could see a thousand thoughts flickering through Hannibal’s mind, each one obvious if you knew how to look for them the way Face did, and each one moving at the speed of light. 

“I just don’t want things to be difficult for you,” Hannibal said eventually, and Face’s heart melted in his chest. He hadn’t expected that.

“For me?” 

Hannibal nodded again, ducking down to kiss Face tenderly on the lips, then blurted out, “I don’t want you to feel bored, or excluded, while I’m stuck in all these meetings and lectures. I don’t want you to be in any situation where these older ladies might make snide comments. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or embarrassed or – ”

“Breathe, sweetheart.” Face kissed Hannibal again, more firmly. He slid his hands up into Hannibal’s hair, scratching gently at his lover’s scalp and relishing the shiver that ran down Hannibal’s long spine. “I’ll be absolutely fine. We’re in a five-star hotel with a spa and two swimming pools, remember? There’s a gym, and several bars and restaurants. I’ve bought a pile of books and our bed is the biggest and softest thing I think I’ve ever seen in my entire life. If those older ladies don’t want anything to do with me, I’ll be quite content for four days.”

“You’re sure?” But Hannibal still sounded worried, and Face quirked up one eyebrow again and smiled at his over-protective lover.

“I’m quite sure. And you’re forgetting one thing, boss.” 

Hannibal relaxed a fraction at the familiar nickname. “What’s that then, kid?”

“I’ve never met a woman I couldn’t charm.” To anyone else that would sound cocky – and if anyone else was in the room, Face would never have said it – but when Hannibal threw his head back and laughed, more loudly than before, Face preened a little, pleased to have put his lover’s mind at ease.

As the only ‘gay man’ in a hotel full of bored wives and girlfriends, all forced to mingle while waiting for their other halves to be done with their meetings, Face was confident he’d have no trouble fitting in. Married ladies felt safe around him, single women would flirt quite happily with him, and he’d have them all eating out of the palm of his hand by the end of the day.

The only man? That could only work in his favour. He’d make Hannibal proud if it was the last thing he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't quite nail this prompt, I fear, but it was such a lovely idea that I had to give it a go!
> 
> Spot_On60 has now written a wonderful sequel [Taking Care Of The Ladies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340610), please go and check it out!
> 
> And I'd written a less-wonderful sequel before I read it, which you can now find in Chapter Eleven.


	9. Putting It To Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anything involving Face carrying Hannibal over his shoulder and saying “I should put this to bed before it hurts itself”.   
> \- Pasmore

He has to admit, it’s starting to look highly likely that beer number two was not his finest idea.

Beer number one was also not, possibly, perhaps, a good idea, not given the painkillers he’s been forced to take for his injured knee, but he deserved one beer goddamn it, after the hell they’d survived this time around.

He’s amongst friends, friends who will keep an eye out for him as he would keep an eye out for them, and he really did deserve a beer. Beers. Two beers, small beers. He’s a big boy, six foot four don’t you know, and he can drink anyone under the table, so bring it on.

Except.

The campfire is dancing a little too much, and it’s all a bit bright in spite of the late hour, and the world is doing the sort of twist and whirl it only usually does when he’s been sampling fine whiskey with Russ for a few hours.

Shit.

Maybe if he stays very, very still, it’ll all stop. Two beers isn’t anywhere near enough to get him this hammered. But two beers and a painkiller is, apparently.

Maybe no one’s noticed, and if he sits very still, and stays very quiet, everything will stop spinning and dancing and he’ll be able to sneak off back to his tent without being spotted. Maybe he can just lie down and sleep it all off, maybe with Face in his arms. Face is cuddly, especially after a couple of beers.

Double shit. Did he just giggle?

“Boss? You okay there?”

Oh, fuck. He doesn’t trust his voice. He nods instead, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, and nearly falls off his chair, and those flames dance a little higher into the night sky. It’s pretty.

He blinks, and suddenly there’s a blurry face in front of him. No, no, it’s actually a blurry Face, and he absolutely categorically does not giggle again.

“Boss?” Face dances in and out of focus before his eyes, all shadows in the twisting firelight, and then a gentle hand cups the back of his head, holding him steady. “Easy, sweetheart,” Face whispers, for his ears only, then, louder, “Who the hell gave him a second beer?”

There’s a chorus of denials and finger pointing, and he wants to point out that he helped himself actually thank you very much, but he can’t find enough energy to care about any of it, not when Face is looking so pretty in the very pretty firelight. He reaches out a hand to caress his pretty lover and maybe go in for a kiss and – 

Then Face is moving, then the whole world is moving, and he finds himself abruptly tugged upright by strong arms, wobbling on legs that have suddenly turned to jello as the world shifts and lurches beneath his feet.

“Woah, shit.” And now he’s upside down, looking down at the fire and feeling a little sick before oh, hello there, Face’s ass happens to be perfectly in his line of sight. Face has a glorious ass, and he happily palms a handful with what is unquestionably not another giggle just as Face starts moving.

“I should put this to bed before it hurts itself.” The muscles in that glorious ass move beautifully beneath his hand. He ignores the catcalls and wolf-whistles as he brings his other hand up to get a better grip, sighing with satisfaction. “I’ll deal with you losers tomorrow, if the boss doesn’t get to you first.”

He’s flying, and it’s really just lovely, Face’s broad shoulder in his belly and Face’s strong arms around his legs, gentle against his bandaged knee, keeping him safe. He’s dizzy now, the shadows shifting and gaining strength, and not even his grip on Face’s fine ass can keep those shadows creeping steadily closer.

“Sleep, John,” Face whispers. “I’ve got you.”

And he can’t help but obey.


	10. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct sequel to chapter 9, as the utterly unoriginal title might suggest, and sprang from a comment rather than a direct prompt:
> 
> I have to say that Face truly came to the rescue on this one. I wonder how much he's going to remember in the morning, though better yet I wonder if anyone has the guts other than Face to tell him how he acted, LOL?  
> \- Jullian Gray

Hannibal has no memory of last night. No idea what he got up to, no clue how he made it back to the tent, and absolutely no thoughts on how he managed to get undressed and into his bunk.

But apparently he did. He wakes up quite calmly and comfortably, lying flat on his back, tucked up under his sleeping bag wearing only his boxers and a t-shirt. He can feel a pillow propping up his bandaged knee and another tucked beneath his head, which is throbbing painfully though he can’t feel his knee at all.

He also has a thick tongue that feels coated in sandpaper, and a thirst that could drain entire lakes. Oceans, even.

And he has a Face, sitting fully dressed on the bunk next to him, wearing a patient expression that speaks of fondness and bemusement.

“What happened?” Hannibal asks Face, his voice a painful rasp that makes him wince as his head throbs even more hideously. Face smiles back at him, holding out a bottle of water and a single white pill.

“So, there are going to be a few amusing and awkward rumours to deal with this morning.” Face watches Hannibal struggle upright and waits patiently while he gulps down the water in one long swallow, washing the pill down without even looking to see what it was. “And you are no longer allowed to drink any alcohol at all when you’re taking those particular painkillers.”

Face is always paranoid about drinking and medication, perhaps understandably given his own bodily sensitivities to anything stronger than a simple aspirin, so Hannibal is confident that Face is just overreacting.

“Just one drink is – ”

“No, not ‘just one drink’. Never again.” Face shakes his head, clearly trying to look stern though it actually looks like he’s trying not to laugh, and his earlier comment finally sinks into Hannibal’s fuzzy brain.

Amusing rumours…

“What happened?” he asks urgently, and again Face just smiles, bright blue eyes twinkling knowingly even in the shadowy tent. “Face, what did I do?”

Face is a showman of course – one of many things that Hannibal loves dearly about the man – and he lets the silence grow, and Hannibal’s tension builds. Face takes his time standing and stretching his arms high above his head, his thin shirt riding up to offer a tantalising glimpse of toned abs which leaves Hannibal even more dry mouthed, before he finally speaks. 

“Y’know, I think I’m gonna let you figure that out for yourself.” He leans over and kisses Hannibal lightly on the lips, stroking briefly over Hannibal’s rough cheek. “See you out there.” And with the blink of an eye, he’s gone, leaving Hannibal alone with his sluggish thoughts.

Fuck. What the hell did he do?

* * *

When Hannibal does finally manage to stagger out of the tent, after another two bottles of water and sitting very still until the world stopped spinning around him, he’s very glad he decided to wear his sunglasses in spite of the early hour.

The light feels as if it’s piercing through to his brain, and the desert heat is already leeching what little strength he’s managed to regain.

He categorically refuses to use his crutches, though. He knee feels surprisingly good after being cushioned so well overnight, or maybe any pain there has simply been drowned out by the pain in his head.

He tries to walk tall and hold his head high. And the first group of junior soldiers he limps past all nod a polite “good morning” with no fuss and no comment, though as he passes them he can swear he hears stifled laughter, which stops as soon as he glares back over his shoulder.

Oh shit, what did he do last night?

The second group of soldiers are a little more senior, and a little bolder too, though they all still call an easy “morning, boss!” as Hannibal approaches. But then one, a sergeant whose name has completely slipped Hannibal’s mind, adds, “How’s the hangover? Did you sleep well?”

“Fine thanks,” Hannibal grunts in response, relived when the sound of his own voice doesn’t send his own brain melting out of his ears again. It’s not an amusing or awkward question, so perhaps Face was exaggerating or – 

“Did you sleep alone then, boss?” It’s a different soldier this time, a second lieutenant from another regiment, and before a stunned Hannibal can even begin to formulate an answer, a third man calls over.

“How did it feel, boss? That ass?”

What ass? Hannibal can hardly ask, and he won’t be heard anyway over the sudden gales of laughter and wolf-whistles as the group fall apart right in front of him.

It’s utterly inappropriate behaviour towards a decorated Colonel, but he chooses to leave it, too nervous and too nauseous to deal with them right now, though he notes their faces for later. Instead he keeps walking – limping – as fast as he can until he finally sees two familiar and friendly faces headed to meet him. His shoulders relax just a fraction; Murdock and BA will tell him the truth, even if they do tease him mercilessly in the process.

He’s starting to have a nagging feeling that he deserves the teasing. That’s not a good feeling, particularly when his stomach is already doing somersaults. He needs fried food, lots of it, and soon.

“It lives!” Murdock crows loudly, fist-punching the air with a little leap of glee, before skipping towards Hannibal in a slightly manic way, BA following in his wake.

“Way to go with squashing those annoying rumours, boss!” BA’s grin is too wide and also slightly manic, showing far too many teeth for Hannibal’s liking. It’s quite disconcerting. Like a shark circling its prey.

“Hannibal and Face sitting in a tree…” Murdock starts to sing the old childish chant at the top of his lungs, turning in place and gesturing wildly for everyone to join in, and to Hannibal’s utter mortification a passing group of soldiers does indeed pick up the song.

K

I

S

S

I

N

G

With every letter, Hannibal’s heart sinks lower and lower. Soon, what feels like half the camp is singing at Hannibal, or laughing, or making cat-calls and wolf-whistles, and thank fuck for BA who takes pity on Hannibal, leading him away from the worst of the noise by one elbow into the maze of tents, to where Face is waiting.

Face looks equal parts pissed and amused as he cocks one questioning eyebrow at Hannibal. “So, how are we doing on this fine morning?” he asks, arms folded over his chest in a position that makes his biceps bulge absolutely beautifully. “Do we remember anything yet?”

But Hannibal can only shake his head, as Murdock suddenly comes skipping up behind Face, still singing, though his tune has changed to a cheerful round of Baby Got Back.

I like big butts and I cannot lie…

Hannibal’s stomach turns over violently, and suddenly there are a few tiny flashes of memory making their way through the fog. Being released from medical. Face forcing him to take a painkiller. Deciding he’d be absolutely fine with another beer. But then… nothing.

He shakes his head, swallowing hard. “No, Face, I don’t really remember anything. Nothing at all.”

“You got completely smashed on two beers, boss.” BA releases his grip on Hannibal’s arm and thumps him on the back, a friendly move that still nearly sends Hannibal tumbling to the floor in his weakened state.

Murdock pauses his joyful singing-slash-rapping and drapes himself comfortably over Face’s shoulders. “Started laughin’ and gigglin’,” he adds helpfully, and Hannibal’s stomach sinks impossibly further.

“Face had to carry you off to bed,” BA concludes, and Face nods once.

Is that it? That can’t be it.

“Doesn’t sound so bad,” Hannibal says hesitantly, though some niggling sixth sense tells him this isn’t the entire story. 

And sure enough, Face barks a laugh that doesn’t sound entirely amused. “You tried to kiss me first, and then, once I’d hauled you over my shoulder, you fondled my ass quite happily all the way back to the tent. All the way through camp.”

“Right in front of everyone,” Murdock chirps, as if there was any doubt, but Hannibal barely hears him.

A spark of memory. Of flying through the air, held safely in strong arms, with his hands cupping firm, juicy muscle.

Hannibal groans, loudly, and he would’ve collapsed down to the ground in horror if it hadn’t been for his stupid knee and BA’s sudden grip on his shoulder. Instead, he buries his face briefly in his hands taking a few slow, deep breaths. “Please tell me I didn’t?” he begs, hoping this is all just a bad joke. He doesn’t feel much like a colonel right now. He feels incredibly embarrassed.

“You did,” says BA, with another little slap, this time delivered to Hannibal’s own ass.

“You absolutely did,” says Murdock, slipping past Hannibal with a peck to his cheek, then he and BA disappear, leaving Hannibal alone with his boy.

“You really did,” Face says softly, nodding but not moving, and Hannibal swallows down his nausea.

“I’m so sorry,” he manages at last, and Face’s semi-stern demeanour suddenly cracks as he folds himself nearly double laughing, hands braced on his thighs. And for a long moment Hannibal is deeply confused.

Was it all a joke after all?

When Face eventually calms down enough, he steps forward and pulls Hannibal into a fierce hug, one which Hannibal lets himself melt into. “There are always going to be rumours about the two of us,” Face speaks quietly into Hannibal’s ear, holding him close. “There’s no smoke without fire, after all, and I love you so much. But we could do without you groping me in front of the entire camp next time, okay?”

“Okay,” Hannibal whispers, dropping his heavy head down to rest on Face’s strong shoulder. “I’m so sorry, kid, I really am.”

But Face just laughs again, softer now, and the wonderful sound rumbles gently through Hannibal’s own chest. Strong arms tighten even more around Hannibal’s back to keep them as close together as humanly possible. 

“The boys’ll get over it,” Face reassures him. “Someone else will get pissed and make a fool of themselves tonight, and this’ll all be forgotten. That’s what happens when we’re on downtime for too long.”

Hannibal’s cheeks are burning with embarrassment, and he has absolutely no idea how he can face the rest of the camp right now, let alone try to reassert his rank. He needs a lot more sleep first, and a new body perhaps, but Face seems to read his feelings quite easily in his eyes when they finally step apart. He squeezes Hannibal’s hand gently before standing tall, and Hannibal is somehow drawn up with him.

“Come on, boss. Let’s get it over with and face it together, then we’ll get you something fried for breakfast. How does that sound?”

Together, yes. And bacon. That’s the only possible way Hannibal will get through this day, and he takes a deep breath before bracing himself and following Face as his lover leads the way back through the maze of tents to the wider open spaces where, of course, everyone is waiting.

There’s a round of applause and whooping cheers, plus Murdock conducting another bracing chorus of Baby Got Back, though Face stays right by Hannibal’s side and laughingly tells him, “Take a bow, Colonel!”

And what else can Hannibal do but own his mistakes and take his ribbing like a man? He bows deep and low and the crowd roars in delight.


	11. The Only Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sequel to Chapter Eight: The Only Man, written before I'd read Spot_On60's wonderful [Taking Care Of The Ladies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340610).

He stands out like a sore thumb. A six-foot-one, very masculine, very friendly one, but a sore thumb nonetheless.

She doesn’t really get to spend much time with him, beyond a friendly handshake and a warm smile, until the afternoon of the second day. It’s all going as well as these things can, she supposes, and thankfully she already knows a few of the other wives and girlfriends from earlier conferences, but he is certainly something new, and rather entertaining.

It’s been quite amusing seeing how everyone has reacted to have a male partner there with them, in their traditionally ‘women only’ domain – it’s never even occurred to her before, but even the few female officers who attend these conferences have never brought their husbands or boyfriends along, something quite shocking now she’s taken the time to think of it. But she’s got to give the man credit; he’s been working hard to get everyone on his side, while making it look quite effortless, and it does seem to be paying off.

Time will tell. They’re here for another two and a half days yet.

It helps that he’s obviously handsome, though not to her personal taste. The eyes, for starters, the first thing anyone would notice about him – those crazy bright blue eyes smile and flash and watch, full of openness and friendliness, yet they’re also cautious and she can tell he’s been observing them all very carefully, and tailoring his interactions according to each woman.

Beyond those stunning eyes, he has unusual wavy caramel hair, carefully curated stubble on his chin, a wide and welcoming smile, and courteous body language depending on which group of ladies he’s with. 

With the older ladies, she’s seen him being nothing but respectful and polite, escorting one in to lunch on his arm earlier like a true gentleman. With the younger ladies, he’s been walking the fine line between flirty and friendly, playing up to the stereotype of the ‘camp gay guy’ just enough that they all feel flattered yet perfectly safe.

It’s all a fine act, designed to win everyone over, and yet she can also see he’s a good guy and he means well. She can also see he’s not looking for a fling, whether he’s gay or bi or somewhere in between; she’d been watching him late last night in the bar when his Colonel came to join them, and the way his eyes had lit up as he’d folded himself into the older man’s arms told her everything she needed to know.

He’s head over heels for his man. And, judging by the way his Colonel’s long arms had locked tightly around his narrow waist in return, as if he never wanted to let go, the feeling is more than mutual.

Beyond his handsome face and his carefully polite manners, he has a stunning body too, if chiselled muscles and a golden tan is your sort of thing. She’s watched, bemused, as the other wives and girlfriends – both older and younger – have openly drooled over his physique with not an ounce of shame on their faces. The tiny swimsuit he’d worn that morning to do a swift and effortless hundred laps of the pool had left nothing to the imagination, though she did note with some amusement that he’d changed into loose boardshorts and a shirt before the officers came to join them all for lunch.

Playing to his audience. He’s clever, this one.

He’s also Army, or, to be more precise, Ranger. If the hard-earned muscles and visible battle scars weren’t proof enough, the tattoo displayed proudly on his solid bicep declares it to the world. It’s also in the way he stands and the way he carries himself, and she’s been around Army-types long enough to see he’s got to be good at his job.

Odd, perhaps, that he hadn’t gone to the conference himself, rather than spending the time with the partners instead. But rumour has it that he’s a sharpshooter and a requisitions specialist, not a tactical expert, and he truly seems happy swapping book recommendations in the lounge – they’ve formed an impromptu book group already – or joining a group visit to the spa for facials.

As far as she can tell, there hasn’t been any backlash or cattiness against his presence, which is a welcome sign of just how far the Army has come in its march towards equality, if one ignores the lack of other male partners. The women have all seemed to accept his presence easily enough; he’s a welcome distraction, after all, and a perfectly charming one. Those officers attending the conference itself seem to know he’s really one of them, though she thought she’d seen a little wariness on the faces of some of the older officers who clearly hadn’t met him before.

The wariness seemed to have disappeared by breakfast on the second day, and she’d witnessed the round of handshakes as the officers peeled off for their first meetings, with one older officer even telling him loudly to ‘look after the girls for us, lad, won’t you?’

Patronising, and sexist, but before anyone else could speak up he’d shaken the officer’s hand long and hard. Too hard. Very visibly too hard, with a steeliness to his gaze and a bulge to his muscles as he replied that ‘the ladies are the ones looking after me, sir’. The officer had managed to swallow his wince and had tried to be subtle as he cradled his crushed hand to his chest as he left. 

Oh, she quite likes this guy.

Still, it’s not until long after lunch that he comes to see her, bearing a tray of goodies. The group has mostly splintered apart for the afternoon, some to a yoga class on the terrace, others to the spa for another variety of free treatments, and more still have joined an excursion to a local brewery. She’s curled up on a lounger by the pool instead, in need of a little quiet time, legs in the sun but head sheltered just enough to let her read her book, and then – 

“Mind if I join you?”

He’s wearing his baggy shorts rather than his ‘budgie smugglers’, a short-sleeved white shirt left unbuttoned and hanging open loosely on his chiselled torso, as well as dark sunglasses, and he waits for her nod before sitting on the lounger next to her and placing the tray carefully on the tiny table between them.

“Is one of those for me?” she asks hopefully, eying up the two Cosmopolitan cocktails in their chilled glasses, as well as the plate of sliced fruit and vegetable sticks.

“It is indeed.” Like a true gentleman, he hands her a glass with a little bow and a warm smile. “We’re on holiday, right? So it’s acceptable to have a little drink or two after lunch?”

“Oh, I absolutely agree.” She waits until he lifts his own glass before saying, “Cheers.”

They clink their cocktails together and both take a long sip. It’s a very good Cosmo – the bar here is absolutely excellent, and she has plans to join their cocktail classes tomorrow afternoon – and she watches from the corner of her eye as her companion also seems to deeply relish the taste as he settles back on to his own lounger, swinging his long legs up and stretching out.

“That’s exactly what I needed,” he says quietly, almost to himself, and she laughs a little.

“I have to say I do like a man who is confident enough to openly enjoy a fruity pink cocktail.” Most of the men here have only been seen enjoying a scotch or a whiskey, or a simple pint. Stereotypical Army, every one of them.

Or nearly every one of them. He smiles again, lifting his sunglasses off and setting them on the tray, taking another indulgent sip and licking his lips before he replies with sparkling blue eyes, “Life’s too short not to indulge, surely.” A simple yet true statement.

They sit in silence for a while, each of them reaching out occasionally to lift a piece of fruit or a carrot stick from the tray, enjoying the peace. It’s a comfortable silence, and she’s impressed; he’s read her very well, bringing her favourite cocktail, spotting the fact that she’s on a reluctant diet, and understanding that she’s really not a chatterbox. She doesn’t need the quiet spaces filled with small talk, even with a relative stranger.

She casts the occasional sideways glance at her companion, and he seems genuinely relaxed in her presence too, not putting on a show or trying to impress her. Those blue eyes are staring happily out across the pool and the grounds, and he takes the occasional sip from his cocktail, breathing slowly and deeply. She feels she’s seeing the true man beneath all the acting, though goodness knows if that’s true or not.

And she’s curious, in spite of herself, about this stranger in their midst. Eventually she gives in and asks, “So, tell me a little about you and your Colonel?” She knows most of the story, of course, thanks to the gossip of the conference, but she’d quite like to hear it from him, if he feels like talking. 

He smiles to himself, a sweet, almost shy thing, so different from the confident larger-than-life persona he’s been displaying so far. And he tells her a little, about being colleagues then friends then lovers. About not really hiding their love, but keeping it an almost open secret for years. About being outed for good by someone at their last posting.

That makes her so angry on his behalf, and she says as much, but to her surprise he just shrugs and sighs softly.

“Hannibal hated it,” he explains after a moment. “But I found I wasn’t too upset, once the initial shock wore off.” He sounds honest, his words calm and measured, that sweet smile hovering on his lips again as he meets her gaze briefly before looking away again.

She can only nod, finding herself understanding and seeing the truth in his eyes. “Must’ve been nice not to have to hide anymore,” she comments, and those eyes snap back to hers immediately. “No more ‘open secrets’.”

“Yes.” It’s emphatic, and she smiles at him encouragingly. “That’s it exactly.”

Something he’d said earlier makes her pause, though, and she hesitates before asking, “You call him ‘Hannibal’?”

“Oh.” He blushes immediately, all over his cheeks and down his neck and chest, obvious in spite of his perfect all-over tan. “Well…” It’s almost as if he’s debating with himself whether to answer, and just as she’s decided to take pity on him he suddenly seems to reach a decision. “Yes, I do call him Hannibal, most of the time. That’s how I was introduced to him, all those years ago. That’s the man I fell in love with.”

“And he calls you ‘Face’?” she asks, seeing his shy nod. That’s so sweet, the two of them using their Army ‘handles’.

She’s not expecting him to continue, but he does. “Yes, he calls me Face. Though, I sometimes call him John and he calls me Temp. Or, well, sweetheart sometimes, but he’s not one for pet names really.” These two are just adorable, and she’s having to bite her tongue to resist cooing over him, but he clears his throat and straightens up on his lounger before turning the question back on her. “So, how about you and your Colonel then? How’d you meet?”

Fair’s fair, and she tells him their story. Introduced by mutual friends six years ago, love at first sight, married six months ago. It’s far shorter than his story, and much more straightforward, but he listens intently the entire time.

“Married, wow.” He whistles through his teeth, shaking his head a little in amazement. “Impressive.”

“Not on the cards for you two?” The question slips out without thought, and for a second he stiffens up, blue eyes turning a little cloudy. If they’ve been together that long, stayed strong through so many challenges, then surely…

“I very much hope so,” he says eventually, his gaze turning inwards. “Some day. But I’ll leave that decision up to him.” He gestures to one of the discreet staff hovering nearby, catching their eye before pointing to the matching empty cocktail glasses in the universal gesture for ‘another round please’.

“Oh, I shouldn’t.” She hadn’t even realised she’d finished her cocktail, and it’s barely one in the afternoon, she’s a little tipsy as it is, and – 

“We’re on holiday, remember? But I’ll drink both if you don’t want another one.” He throws her a conspiratorial wink, and he means every word he’s saying, though she can’t help but laugh at him. She’s found a friend here, she can tell. And of course she’s having another drink with him. It would be rude not to.

When the bartender brings their next round over, she asks, “What are we drinking to, then?”

He hums softly, thinking for a moment, before suggesting, “To love? Or is that too cliched?”

A little, perhaps, though certainly appropriate given their conversation, though she has a better idea. “How about a toast to us? To being the only ones?”

It’s his turn to laugh a little, and he ducks his head a fraction, before nodding his agreement and raising his glass to meet hers. “To being the only man.”

“And to being the only woman.”

“So this is why our ears are burning?” The unexpected voice makes her startle, and she barely manages to avoid spilling her second Cosmopolitan as she turns on her lounger to see their two Colonels standing there side by side, her wife with his partner. It’s her wife who had spoken, an amused smile hovering on her perfect lips, and both of them are out of uniform, unexpectedly.

Her new friend is up and out of his lounger already, cocktail abandoned on the table. “Hannibal!” He throws his arms around his colonel’s neck, kissing him quite openly, and being kissed quite enthusiastically in return. “What are you doing here?” he asks with obvious delight when they finally break apart.

“Our afternoon sessions were cancelled, so we thought we’d join you.” He has a deep, commanding voice, light blue-grey eyes shining only for his love, though he does spare her a warm nod and smile as he adds, “If we’re not interrupting, of course?”

“Of course you aren’t interrupting.” She stands to kiss her wife, her own darling Colonel, welcoming the warm hand that slides up into her hair and the second hand that slides down to caress her lower back. “The more the merrier. We’ve decided it’s cocktail hour already.”

And as her new friend gestures to the bar staff again, and the two Colonels pull up loungers of their own, the afternoon promises to be a very good one indeed.


End file.
